My husband, Dan, and I are based in Bellingham, Washington, in the sailors’ paradise known as the Pacific Northwest. For almost 20 years, we’ve sailed Moonlight, our 1979 Seawind 31, surrounded by the beauty of the blue-green Salish Sea, the San Juan Islands and, to the north, Canadian waters. We bought Moonlight as a 25th wedding anniversary gift to each other, and raised our three young teenagers as sailors.

Our teens’ ever-changing priorities made us seriously consider changing the boat’s name to Intuition because we always had to guess whether they’d want to join us for weekend or vacation cruises. But through the years, sailing brought us together in good times (there’ve been many) and hard times, such as when, in early 2007, our oldest son was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. It was a difficult three years with an outstanding medical team and cutting-edge treatments before his disease went into full remission.  

That same year, the ­entire family joined together aboard Moonlight to sail in the annual Leukemia Cup Regatta, sponsored by the Seattle Yacht Club. It raises money to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, with sponsors supporting each crew. Usually, about 50 teams compete for top spots. Live music, silent auctions, parties, food, drinks and awards round out the fun. We’ve since participated in eight of these regattas; team Moonlight always sports sponsors’ decals on our sails, and we always place in the top three teams for donations. 

Every year we did the regatta, the kids and their spouses came to Bellingham to help sail Moonlight to the venue—Seattle’s Elliott Bay. On those pre-regatta cruises, we shared many memorable meals aboard. Moonlight’s relatively small galley means that a one- or two-pot meal is our absolute go-to, especially when sailing with a full crew. We regularly cook up a good, hearty soup. 

Pacific Northwest weather can be brutal, with ever-­changing seas, winds and temperatures. Hot soup is a must, and Pacific Northwest Salmon Chowder is one of our favorites. It’s easy to make, and the flavors are all about the Northwest, with the salmon simmered amid peas, carrots, onions and potatoes in a creamy broth. The wild-caught salmon and almost everything else is locally sourced. What could be better? 

Our family, with the sea as our playground, learned to enjoy and appreciate nature’s bounty. This salmon chowder uses that bounty, and brings back happy memories of ­sailing in those regattas. Above all, every time we eat it, we’re grateful that our son is thriving: Sixteen years later, he’s still in full remission. Thanks to that, we hope we’ll all be sailing—and eating chowder—together for many years to come.

Pacific Northwest Salmon Chowder (serves 6 to 8)

• 4 Tbsp. butter
• 6-8 baby potatoes, sliced, or 2 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• ¾ cup celery, chopped
• 2 medium carrots, grated
• 2 cups frozen peas
• 3-4 cups seafood or chicken stock
• ½ cup white wine 
• 1 cup water
• 1 tsp. salt
• ¼-½ tsp. black pepper
• 1-1¼ lb. fresh, skinned salmon fillet 
• 1 cup heavy cream (or to taste)*
• 1 bunch fresh dill, to taste
• Dash of Worcestershire sauce (optional)
• Liquid red-pepper seasoning or red pepper flakes (optional)
• 2-3 Tbsp. flour (optional)

* at least 35 percent fat or it might separate

Melt the butter in a large soup pot. Briefly saute the potatoes and vegetables in the butter. Add stock; bring to boil. Reduce heat to simmer, cover, and let cook until the potatoes and veggies are al dente (8 to 10 minutes). 

Meanwhile, poach the salmon. Add white wine and water, plus a few sprigs of dill, to a large saute pan with a lid. Bring the liquid to a steady simmer over medium heat. Salt and pepper the salmon fillets to taste, and add to the pan. (If skin remains on the fillet, place the skin side down.) Add additional water, if required, to just cover the fillet. Cover the pan, and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes, depending on thickness. The fish is ready if it begins to flake when prodded with a fork; the inside might not be cooked. Remove it from the liquid with a slotted spoon, and let it rest on a plate. Peel off any skin and discard. 

Add heavy cream to the soup pot, stir, and bring to a low simmer. Flake the salmon into the pot in chunks. Add chopped fresh dill to taste and, if desired, Worcestershire and red pepper. Simmer and stir until cream is thickened and salmon is cooked, about 5 minutes. 

For thicker broth, place the flour in a small bowl. Add 2 to 3 tablespoons of broth from the pot, and blend until creamy. Stir the mixture into the chowder. 

Taste, adjust seasonings, and ladle into soup bowls. Garnish with snipped dill, and serve immediately. 

Prep time: 1 hour
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor

Cook’s Note: You can substitute thawed frozen salmon, or use 15 ounces of canned salmon.
Editor’s Note: Leukemia Cup Regattas are held throughout the United States. Visit lls.org/leukemiacup.

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: A Northwest Nature’s Bounty appeared first on Cruising World.

We’ve accumulated a sleigh full of wonderful holiday recipes through the years, courtesy of our ever-voyaging readers who, in the spirit of giving, have shared some their favorites with us along the way. Each of these recipes are 100 percent galley-friendly and guaranteed to elevate your crew’s Christmas spirit on board. We think you’ll agree that the only thing better than the dishes themselves are the stories behind how they came to be. Here are four festive galley-borne delights submitted from around the globe to try out this season, wherever you may roam.  

Caribbean Christmas Pudding

It was our first Christmas as cruisers, and it arrived rather unexpectedly. We’d been anchored for a couple of weeks on Picaroon, our Hardin Sea Wolf, at Norman Island in the British Virgin Islands. Without the traditional holiday cues—decorations, holiday parties and snow—we’d hardly noticed it was Christmas Eve when we were invited to join local cruisers for a potluck dinner the next day.  

“Make figgy pudding!” insisted Philip, my British husband. Figgy pudding is a fond nickname for what we Americans call plum pudding, and I know of it only from English Christmas carols and holiday stories. I’d obliged and made it for several holidays running, but now lacked key ingredients on the boat. Then it struck me: Plum pudding is pretty much a denser, richer version of Caribbean black cake, also traditionally served at Christmas. With a recipe for neither, and no Internet access, I decided to improvise. And use lots of rum, just in case. The final result was still warm when we dinghied over to Willie T’s bar for the cruisers’ Christmas potluck. It was such a hit, even the bar’s local staff asked for the recipe! —Heather Hamilton

Get the recipe here.

Jamaican Christmas Cocktail

All I was really after were some limes, but sometimes a simple errand can turn into an extended encounter—and a glimpse into local customs. I was in Port Antonio, a small city with a protected harbor at the foot of Jamaica’s Blue Mountains. One of the draws of the place—other than the excellent marina and the incredible natural beauty—was the opportunity to provision before my husband, Markus, and I set off for Panama’s San Blas islands on Namani, our Dufour 35. I was a woman on a mission, just breezing through—until friendly locals slowed me down. 

At a tiny fruit stand I met Sophia, who made her living selling just a smattering of goods: a little citrus, a few spices; enough to fill a large basket, no more. Squeezed in with quiet Sophia were two friends, outgoing Evette and kindly Andrea, 20-something girlfriends chatting away. To my delight, they immediately pulled me into their conversation. When my eye fell on the ginger—lovely fresh ginger, so different from the wizened old knobs found at the supermarket back home—the young women mentioned “sorrel drink,” Jamaica’s traditional Christmas brew. Seeing that I had no concept whatsoever of this fabulous concoction, the three launched into the recipe, each repeating it in her own words so it might penetrate my thick head. It took me about ten iterations to understand the word “sorrel,” the way it rolled off their Jamaican tongues and traveled into my uncomprehending American ear. Cereal? Sonnel? Sorrel! Finally, I understood! 

In Jamaica, sorrel is a type of hibiscus (hibiscus sabdariffa), and it’s distinctly different from the green similar to spinach called by the same name elsewhere. I asked where I might find it. Sophia glanced sideways at Evette, who looked suggestively at Andrea, who smiled widely. “I’ll get some!” she cried and disappeared into the market. Andrea eventually found some through a friend, and that afternoon, just as promised, Sophia presented me with a gallon-sized bag of wine-red Jamaican sorrel, at the bargain price of the equivalent of $1. 

That evening, I brewed up my first batch of Christmas drink, my ears ringing with instructions in melodic Jamaican voices while the scent of ginger and sorrel filled the galley. My husband sipped and heartily approved. In the end, we made several different batches until we had a recipe that worked as both a refreshing ice tea and as a cocktail. With Christmas right around the corner, I’d gained—thanks to my new friends in Port Antonio—not only a lovely memory of Jamaica but also a recipe for a drink perfect for a tropical holiday celebration. —Nadine Slavinski

Get the recipe here.

Christmas Chocolate Cake

I always remind my mother that cruisers have intentions, not plans. So, when our lack of intentions found us plying the exotic rivers and villages of Panama’s remote Darién province longer than we’d intended, I knew Christmas dinner wasn’t going to be “traditional.” Instead of eggnog, fruitcake, roast turkey, and pumpkin pie, it would be rum, fresh tropical fruit, grilled fish, and-what for dessert? No matter how far from home our more than seven years of cruising has taken us, my husband, Jim, and I have always managed to include a few traditional family favorites in our distant holiday meals. 

Christmas morning dawned silent and gray over our idyllic anchorage on the winding Río Sabana. I was sleeping in—giving Santa a little more time to find us—and Jim was reading in the cockpit of our Tayana 42 cutter, Asylum. He didn’t hear the approaching dugout until the old guy in the leaky little canoe held up a bucket and called out, “Camarones!” A bag of rice, some cooking oil, a couple of onions and a few stale trading cigarettes cinched the deal. Not exactly the same as cookies and milk disappearing from under the Christmas tree, but when I awoke to the news of several pounds of fresh shrimp on board, it was enough to make me believe in Santa Claus again. Christmas dinner was taking shape. 

The day before, we’d meandered up the river for about six miles in Nut Case, our well-worn dinghy, until the river forked and headed left to the village of Santa Fé, which we’d been told was about ten minutes away. Our excursion was part exploration and part foraging: to see what items on our modest Christmas-dinner shopping list the little tiendas might have, and to see if there might be for sale any of the hand-woven palm baskets for which Darién is famous. The narrowing river wound along for much more than ten minutes, and when we finally reached a landing, it wasn’t Santa Fé. Without enough water in the tidal creek to keep going, we left the dinghy on the gooey mud bank and hitched a ride in a car that epitomized the term rattletrap for the 15-minute, bone-jarring trip to the village. 

Santa Fé turned out to be a tropical Dodge City: Saddled horses waited patiently at hitching posts; shops and bars lined the wide, dusty main street; and tall fruit trees provided shade for men in spurs to swap their news. We spotted a small melo, where you can buy anything from Tang to baby chickens, and it didn’t disappoint. The tiny refrigerator yielded two huge surprises: eggnog and turkey hams. Stacked at the counter were little fruitcakes. After those amazing discoveries, I even checked the shelves for pumpkin-pie filling. But it didn’t matter that there was none. I had the recipe for another family favorite, one that always thrilled us as children when mom made it: a sinfully delicious chocolate cake that forms its own pudding-like frosting as it cooks. It was the perfect cap to a perfect Christmas for cruisers.
—Katie Coolbaugh

Get the recipe here.

Christmas Star Cookies

As active seasonal cruisers seeking winter warmth, usually in the Bahamas, my husband, Radd, and I have spent many winter holidays aboard our Island Packet 40, Sasha, far away from family and friends back home. We do miss the gatherings and traditions, but no matter where we are, we try to embrace new ways of celebrating—joining local celebrations or attending local services—while preserving a few tried-and-true traditions from our land life.   

Nassau, on New Providence Island in the Bahamas, was the backdrop for one of our most memorable holidays. We arrived a few days before Christmas, got settled, and then set out to explore. That day’s mission was to visit the Bacardi distillery. In all our cruising destinations, when venturing beyond walking distance of our harbor, we always use whatever public transportation is available (if any). Yes, we’re frugal cruisers, but public transport is a great way to interact with local people and absorb the culture. It’s always far more interesting than taking a taxi.   

In Nassau, we were lucky: There’s an extensive bus system. New Providence is a fairly large island; if you want to head away from Nassau harbor and the downtown area to the island’s south side (“over the hill,” as the locals say), you must hail a taxi, get a ride or take the bus.   After ensuring that we were going in the right direction, we asked our friendly bus driver if the Bacardi distillery was on the route.   

“No,” he replied, with a sorrowful head shake. Then, his face lit up with a wide smile. “But I’ll take you there.”   

And away we went, the only two riders on the bus. Once we got “over the hill,” we discovered a whole different world: homes with yards, small shopping centers, and no tourists. Eventually, we were out in the country. The driver took us right to the distillery’s entrance. We expressed our heartfelt thanks, and then he asked, “What time do you want me to pick you up?”   

The friendliness and courtesy of the Bahamian people are astounding. After a pleasant tour and, of course, a rum tasting, we emerged with several bottles of Bacardi to restock our near-empty liquor locker on board. Sure enough, our new friend retrieved us at the appointed hour, and back “over the hill” we went.  

Back on the boat, feeling festive, I formulated a plan. For as long as I can remember, my mom made special cookies for Christmas Eve. They were moist and creamy, with a hint of peanut butter perfectly complemented by chocolate centers. She always used packaged Brach’s Chocolate Stars, so we called them Star Cookies.  

Of course, she passed down the recipe, one she’d modified through trial and error. I began to gather ingredients on the boat and realized that I had everything but the chocolate stars. It didn’t matter: The cookies are delicious with any small, solid-chocolate candy pieces for the centers. You can use dark chocolate, milk chocolate, even white chocolate.   

When Christmas Eve arrived, we rode the city bus again, this time to attend a holiday service at the magnificent 300-year-old Christ Church Cathedral, a Nassau landmark. In yet another demonstration of Bahamian courtesy, a different driver apologized profusely for not being able to take us directly there but promised he’d get us within a short walk. We both wore wide smiles as easy-listening Christmas carols blared out of the bus speakers.   

Late that night, back aboard Sasha, we feasted on the cookies, along with eggnog spiced with fresh nutmeg and a healthy shot of our recently acquired rum. Turns out it’s possible to be home for the holidays after all. —Lorelei Johnson

Get the recipe here.

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post 4 Galley-Inspired Holiday Treats appeared first on Cruising World.

As active seasonal ­cruisers seeking winter warmth, usually in the Bahamas, my husband, Radd, and I have spent many winter holidays aboard our Island Packet 40, Sasha, far away from family and friends back home. We do miss the gatherings and traditions, but no matter where we are, we try to embrace new ways of celebrating—joining local celebrations or attending local services—while preserving a few tried-and-true traditions from our land life. 

Nassau, on New Providence Island in the Bahamas, was the backdrop for one of our most memorable holidays. We arrived a few days before Christmas, got settled, and then set out to explore. That day’s mission was to visit the Bacardi distillery.

In all our cruising ­destinations, when venturing beyond walking distance of our harbor, we always use whatever public transportation is available (if any). Yes, we’re frugal cruisers, but public transport is a great way to interact with local people and absorb the culture. It’s always far more interesting than taking a taxi.

In Nassau, we were lucky: There’s an extensive bus system. New Providence is a fairly large island; if you want to head away from Nassau harbor and the downtown area to the island’s south side (“over the hill,” as the locals say), you must hail a taxi, get a ride or take the bus. 

After ensuring that we were going in the right direction, we asked our friendly bus driver if the Bacardi distillery was on the route. 

“No,” he replied, with a ­sorrowful head shake. Then, his face lit up with a wide smile. “But I’ll take you there.”

And away we went, the only two riders on the bus.

Once we got “over the hill,” we discovered a whole different world: homes with yards, small shopping centers, and no tourists. Eventually, we were out in the country. The driver took us right to the distillery’s entrance. We expressed our heartfelt thanks, and then he asked, “What time do you want me to pick you up?” 

The friendliness and ­courtesy of the Bahamian people are astounding.

After a pleasant tour and, of course, a rum tasting, we emerged with several bottles of Bacardi to restock our near-empty liquor locker on board. Sure enough, our new friend retrieved us at the ­appointed hour, and back “over the hill” we went.

Back on the boat, feeling festive, I formulated a plan. For as long as I can remember, my mom made special cookies for Christmas Eve. They were moist and creamy, with a hint of peanut butter perfectly ­complemented by chocolate centers. She always used packaged Brach’s Chocolate Stars, so we called them Star Cookies.

Of course, she passed down the recipe, one she’d modified through trial and error. I began to gather ingredients on the boat and realized that I had everything but the chocolate stars. It didn’t matter: The cookies are delicious with any small, solid-chocolate candy pieces for the centers. You can use dark chocolate, milk chocolate, even white chocolate.

When Christmas Eve arrived, we rode the city bus again, this time to attend a holiday service at the magnificent 300-year-old Christ Church Cathedral, a Nassau landmark. In yet another demonstration of Bahamian courtesy, a different driver apologized profusely for not being able to take us directly there but promised he’d get us within a short walk. We both wore wide smiles as easy-­listening Christmas carols blared out of the bus speakers. 

Late that night, back aboard Sasha, we feasted on the cookies, along with eggnog spiced with fresh nutmeg and a healthy shot of our recently acquired rum. Turns out it’s possible to be home for the holidays after all.

Star Cookies (yields 30 cookies)

Ingredients:

• 1¾ cups flour
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• ½ tsp. salt
• ¾ cup butter
• ¾ cup creamy peanut butter
• ½ cup sugar plus ½ cup more for rolling 
• ½ cup brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• About 30 small chocolate pieces
• Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Sift together flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside. 

Cream together butter, peanut butter, ½ cup sugar and ½ cup brown sugar. Add egg and vanilla. Beat well, then mix until consistency is like dough. (It will be slightly wet.) 

Line a cookie sheet with baking paper. With your hands, form the dough into 1½-inch balls (about the size of a ping pong ball), and roll each ball in the remaining ½ cup sugar. Place about 2 inches apart on cookie sheet. 

Bake for 8 minutes. Remove from the oven, place a chocolate piece on each cookie, and press firmly. Return the cookies to the oven and bake for 2 to 5 more minutes, or until the cookies are golden-brown and set. 

Let the cookies cool, and then sprinkle them with powdered sugar, especially if you miss snow. 

Prep time: 1 hour
Difficulty: Medium
Can be made: at anchor

Cook’s Note: 

Use a 1-tablespoon measuring spoon to scoop out raw cookie dough, then roll to shape into balls. A heaping tablespoon makes a perfect-size dough ball.

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: Home for the Holidays appeared first on Cruising World.

We had departed Santa Catalina Island, California, at midnight aboard our Peterson 46, Esprit. It was October, and we were making the 60-plus-nautical-mile passage at night because of a favorable wind forecast. Our destination, Ventura, lay upwind. Winds would be fairly light but enough to avoid motoring the entire way.

 My husband, Mitchell, and I are both originally from a landlocked mountain town: Park City, Utah, which we still call our official home port. We bought Esprit in Panama in 2018, then sailed back to San Francisco Bay, where we could operate charters to earn money for extended cruising. When the pandemic hit, ­charters were no longer an option, so we relocated to Southern California to live aboard and work. We chose Ventura because we had friends there and could easily get into the boat-repair and management business. This industry thrived during the pandemic—a great way to stock the cruising kitty.

Dawn is my favorite watch time on passage. As the sky ­began to brighten, I updated the ship’s log, scanned the horizon once more, and popped down below. My mission: Brew hot coffee and extract a Mason jar from the fridge. In the jar was my “instant” breakfast: a luscious mix of coconut milk, rolled oats, honey, and spice, topped with nuts and fresh fruit. (I often alternate this quick onboard breakfast with an equally delicious “pudding” made with chia seeds.) 

With my mission complete, I settled into the cockpit, enjoyed each bite as the sky turned tangerine, and watched seabirds hunting for their own breakfasts. 

Something big splashed in the distance. Dolphins? I had no one to ask because my crew, consisting of my husband and our cat, were snoozing peacefully down below. Soon, Anacapa Island came into view off the port bow. It’s one of eight islands that make up the Channel Islands archipelago. Five of them, including Anacapa, are national parkland. They are all rugged and pristine, and provide us with challenging and epic cruising grounds. 

In just a few more hours, we’d be back in Ventura Harbor, our temporary home port, before we sailed south to Mexico and beyond.

When it comes to passage-­planning, one of my favorite tasks is figuring out what to eat. We are foodies, and my studies and work background are in nutrition, so there are always fresh, made-from-scratch meals and snacks aboard Esprit.Overnight oats and chia pudding are two of my favorite make-ahead boat breakfasts, and I almost always make a batch or two for passages. Oats have the benefit of being more readily available in markets; they don’t provide quite as much protein as chia seeds, but they’re a great source of filling fiber and quality carbohydrates. (Just add more nuts or seeds to boost protein.) 

There are countless ways to vary each recipe, depending on what you have on hand and what sounds delicious to you. The base is dry rolled oats or chia seeds soaked overnight in coconut milk. (You can use any milk, but I love the tropical taste of the coconut.) You can even combine the chia and oats (see Cook’s Notes). Dress it up with a variety of seasonal fruit, nuts, or seeds for a satisfying, filling breakfast that’s high in protein, fiber, healthy fats, and antioxidants; that’s sure to provide long-lasting fuel for your adventures by sea or land. 

Both recipes will last for several days in the fridge. Consider making a few batches, divided into single-serve containers. This convenient, pre-made breakfast also makes a great snack during passages, or it can be a pretty addition to brunch at anchor with friends. 

Better yet, take time to enjoy a slow morning as I did with this easy, tropical pudding, and transport yourself to paradise, if you’re not already there.

Tropical Breakfast “Pudding” (Serves 2)

For oats:

• 1⁄2 cup dry rolled oats
• 1⁄2 cup (or to taste) coconut or any other milk

For chia seeds:

• 4 Tbsp. chia seeds
• 1 cup coconut or any other milk
• 1⁄4 tsp. cardamom (optional)
• 1 Tbsp. honey or maple syrup 
• 1 very ripe mango, pureed; or fresh berries, peach or any fruit, diced
• 2 Tbsp. chopped pistachios, ­pumpkin seeds, chopped walnuts or slivered almonds

Combine oats or chia seeds, milk, cardamom, and honey or maple syrup in a small bowl. If using nonhomogenized coconut milk, you first might need to warm it in a ­saucepan to get rid of clumps.

Once combined, divide equally into 2 small Mason jars or other containers. Leave room at the top for fruit. 

Cover and refrigerate overnight, or a minimum of 4 hours, to thicken pudding consistency. 

If using mango, slice and scoop out the flesh. Use a blender or food processor, and blend until smooth. Store in a container in the fridge, and spoon over the mixture once it’s firmed up. If using other fruit, add it to the pudding once it’s firm, or just before eating. 

Top with nuts, and savor.

Prep time: 10 MINUTES, PLUS 4 TO 8 HOURS TO CHILL
Difficulty: EASY
Can be made: AT ANCHOR OR UNDERWAY

Cook’s Notes: 

As a topping, pureed peach is also divine, or a blueberry compote. A good-quality jam is a great substitute if fresh provisions are low. Add a sprinkling of crushed, freeze-dried raspberries or pineapples for extra zing. For oats, a dollop of plain Greek yogurt before adding the fruit is also delicious.

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: Rolled Oats Breakfast Pudding with a Tropical Twist appeared first on Cruising World.

This would really be a lot easier with stone counters,” I said to my husband as my fingers clawed at the stubborn dough adhered to our galley’s Formica countertops. Chris responded with a wink and a smile, jotting notes for our upcoming galley remodel. 

We’d been living aboard Avocet, our 1979 Cheoy Lee 41, in Southern California for three years, planning to head to Mexico and beyond in the near future. We’d always had an issue with the fridge failing to stay cold, causing the compressor to run nonstop. Ironically, the fridge had been a huge selling point for me because it’s large in comparison to those on other 41-footers. “It fits eight large pizzas” is how Chris describes it. Although we loved the space, we couldn’t ignore the inefficiency, and finally got around to planning a remodel centered on reinsulating the fridge and freezer.

I’m a dedicated baker, so space in the galley is important to me. I grew up watching my mom bake—family recipes that were then handed down to me. In my family, cooking and baking are a love language. Treats are gifted as love letters of sorts, so it’s only natural that I inherited this sentiment. Now I regularly bake for friends and family every chance I get. 

During our remodel, I had the opportunity to make some other key galley upgrades, from simple sink hardware to a new Force 10 oven, but the shining star is the real quartzite stone countertops. Although stone countertops are heavier than Formica, our boat is able to carry the ­additional 150 pounds well because our galley is near the centerline, parallel to our head and above our ­below-cabin-sole diesel. The added weight doesn’t cause us to list (unless one of the water tanks is empty), and the boat sails just as the designers intended—gracefully and relatively quickly.

Stone countertops are a dream surface for bakers. Quartzite is heat-resistant and generally holds an even, consistent temperature, which is important; if the countertop is too warm or too cold, dough will stick to it like glue. Stone also doesn’t need to be treated with chemical sealants, so you can work with dough (or anything) directly on the countertop without worrying about exposing food to toxins. 

When Chris finally packed up his tools and deemed the project complete, the first thing he asked was, “What are you going to bake?” I answered without hesitating, ­simultaneously pulling out the necessary ingredients: “Foolproof Focaccia!”

This recipe is one of my favorites because of how versatile it is. I’ve made it for years aboard Avocet in varying climates, with differing measurements, and even different rest times for the dough. I’m always pleasantly surprised by how tasty the bread is. You can dress it up or down, leave it plain, or add whatever toppings you’d fancy in addition to the standard salt and oil. 

As the dough magically transformed into focaccia in our new oven, the cabin was infused with the tantalizing aroma of fresh, baking bread. Chris and I patiently waited, mouths watering, while we tried our best to stay busy with other tasks until we could dive into the fluffy goodness. Finally, the timer went off. 

The focaccia had a beautiful brown crust, the sign that it’s been baked fully. Carefully, I removed it from the oven and placed the pan directly on our new, scar-proof quartzite counter before transferring it to a cutting board for serving. It was a divine reward for a day spent doing unending boatwork.

Even though I bake this bread for just the two of us, it’s also a surefire crowd-pleaser. Friends often ask me to bring it to potluck raft-ups, dinners and other casual get-togethers. 

Living on a boat and moving around so much means there can be a lot of trial and error with baking, but that also means I have the opportunity to pass down what I’ve learned to other cruisers who find themselves wondering where to start.

Sharing this recipe is my own love letter to my fellow cruising bakers, or wishful bakers, wherever you cruise. I hope you enjoy the warmth and comfort that this classic bread will bring you and yours, wherever you find ­yourself sailing.

Foolproof Focaccia

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 ⅛ tsp. active dry yeast 
• 1 cup warm water
• 2 Tbsp. olive oil, plus 1-2 Tbsp. additional

Combine flour, salt and yeast in a large bowl, then add warm water. Add 2 Tbsp. olive oil. Stir with a wooden spoon until all the flour is incorporated.

For best results, cover bowl and refrigerate overnight. If you’re impatient (like me) or in a time pinch, let the dough sit out while you clean the galley (20 minutes, but it yields flatter bread) or for 3 to 4 hours or more (for fluffier bread).

Lightly butter a round, 9-inch cake pan, line with parchment paper, and add a tablespoon of olive oil into the center. Form dough into a ball, and coat in the oil. Place dough ball in the center of the pan, cover, and let rest and rise for about 1 hour more.  

Heat the oven to 450 degrees ­Fahrenheit with a rack in the middle. (If your oven doesn’t have a reliable temperature ­setting, get it as hot as you can.)

Drizzle a bit more olive oil on top of the dough, and press down with your ­fingertips to create deep dimples.

Transfer to the oven and bake for 24 to 28 minutes, or until it turns golden brown on top (check periodically). Remove the bread, and let it rest for as long as you can resist it before cutting into it and indulging.

Prep time: 2 hours to overnight
Difficulty: easy
Can be made: at anchor

COOK’S NOTES

Our favorite toppings are cherry ­tomatoes, feta and basil, or tapenade. To keep it ­simple, use an infused olive oil and ­sea-salt flakes. If you do add toppings, first drizzle the dough with olive oil, then add the toppings and press them down lightly into the dough so that they are more incorporated into the bread. 

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: For the Love of Baking appeared first on Cruising World.

When we first left Rhode Island for extended cruising aboard Simple Life, our Island Packet 37, landlubber friends assumed we’d be docking and dining nightly. When we told them we rarely stayed at marinas and mostly anchored out, the wide-eyed response was: But how do you eat? 

This question always made my husband, Joe, and me chuckle. We love good food. We especially love seafood, and I’ve always loved to cook. Cruising and living aboard have only expanded my repertoire. 

When the weather changes in late August, we prepare for our seasonal departure from Narragansett Bay and a monthslong cruise down the Eastern Seaboard to the Bahamas. The goal always is to arrive in northern Florida by November 1, then cross to the Bahamas from South Florida or the Keys. 

As we cruise, we adjust our diet, enjoying crab cakes in Maryland, shrimp in the Carolinas, and the local catch in Florida or the Bahamas. In our Rhode Island home waters, we’ve snagged flounder from the dinghy, foraged for clams ashore, and raked for quahogs (the local name for large, hard-shell clams) in waist-deep water. 

Luckily, our appetite for ­seafood is constantly satisfied. Joe has become a seasoned cruiser and a skilled fisherman. In Abaco, the Bahamas, he taught himself to spear lobsters using a mask, snorkel and Hawaiian sling. On passages under sail, he often snags mahimahi or tuna from a trolling line. Unfailingly, seas are lumpy whenever we catch a fish; why do they never seem to bite when conditions are benign? And whenever a fish is on the line, a brief kerfuffle ensues: Joe wrestles the fish to bring it aboard while I stand at the helm, holding a steady course through the waves and not knocking him overboard. Joe also morphs into a sailing Howard Cosell, excitedly shouting the play-by-play: “It faked left! Now it’s trying to tangle itself between the rudderpost and keel!”

One year, we had a most unexpected catch before even leaving Rhode Island. We were loading the dinghy after a provisioning run when something odd on the dock caught my eye. A closer look revealed masses of large blue crabs attached to every piling. This was a rare sight because blue crabs don’t usually gather in such abundance in Narragansett Bay. 

Quickly, we headed out to Simple Life, offloaded the provisions, grabbed some frozen chicken necks and string I’d saved just for this purpose, and zoomed back to the dock. The tide was still favorable and low. We caught at least 11 of the blue crabs, stopping only when our bucket was filled. We were well under the legal limit, but there was no reason to harvest more than we needed.

We headed back to the boat, spent the next few hours stowing provisions and getting the boat ready to go, and started to think about dinner. Fresh crab was definitely on the menu. 

While living ashore, I’d faithfully followed a crab-cake recipe that was too complex for boat life, with ingredients that could be found only in gourmet markets. Once we moved aboard, I came up with my own boat-friendly version. It has multiple ingredients, but all of them can be found in local supermarkets, including those we use for provisioning. 

The night of our blue crab harvest, I got to work in the galley so we could savor our reward. The crab cakes, made with crabmeat just a few hours out of the sea, were crispy on the outside, and delightfully moist and flavorful inside. 

As we ate and drank in the beauty of our waterfront view, I thought of those landlubber friends who imagined us ­miserably spooning beans from a can, and I burst out laughing. This was living the simple life. If they only knew.

What’s Cooking?

Crisp and Tasty Crab Cakes (makes 6 crab cakes)

• 1 lb. fresh lump crabmeat (or good-quality canned)
• ½ jalapeño or serrano pepper (optional)
• ¼ cup mayonnaise (Duke’s, if possible)
• 1 tsp. dry mustard
• 2 scallions, thinly sliced
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
• 2 tsp. fresh lemon juice (plus lemons for garnish)
• 1½ tsp. Old Bay seasoning*  
• 1¼ cup panko or plain breadcrumbs
• 1 Tbsp. chives, thinly sliced
• ¼ tsp. kosher salt
• 1⁄8  tsp. freshly ground black pepper
• 4 Tbsp. vegetable oil (not olive oil)
• Bibb lettuce, parsley for garnish (optional)

* Or substitute ¾ tsp. each celery salt and paprika, and a pinch of cayenne

Pick over the lump crabmeat to remove bits of shell or cartilage. Set aside. 

Seed jalapeño or serrano pepper, and chop finely. Set aside. 

Combine the next seven ingredients in a medium bowl and add chopped peppers. Whisk well. Add crabmeat and fold to blend. Stir in ¾ cup panko or breadcrumbs, and chives, salt and pepper. 

Carefully divide mixture into 6 equal portions (it might be slightly wet). Form each portion into a 1-inch-thick patty. Plate and refrigerate for at least 10 minutes, preferably up to 1 hour. 

Heat oil in a large skillet (I always use cast-iron) over medium heat. Spread remaining ½ cup panko or breadcrumbs on a plate and lightly coat crab cakes. 

Fry until golden brown and crisp, 3 to 4 minutes per side. 

To serve, arrange crab cakes atop bibb lettuce, or garnish with parsley. Serve with plenty of lemon wedges, and bottled or homemade remoulade or tartar sauce.

Prep time: 1 HOUR, 45 MINUTES, INCLUDING CHILLING
Difficulty: MEDIUM
Can be made: AT ANCHOR

Cook’s Note: For a quickie remoulade, combine ½ cup mayonnaise, 1 Tbsp. lemon juice, 1½ tsp. sweet pickle relish (or chopped sweet or dill pickle), 1 tsp. minced capers and ½ tsp. Dijon or dry mustard. Whisk all ingredients in a small bowl, and set aside for serving. 

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: Crab Cakes and the Simple Life appeared first on Cruising World.

Had I not fallen in love with a sailor from the other side of the world, I could’ve happily stayed in Mexico aboard Circe, my family’s Catalina 400, for the rest of my life. 

Starting from a young age, I’d spent my life sailing the California coast with my family aboard Tango, our Catalina 30. Later, on the larger Circe, we spent every spring cruising the Sea of Cortez, smitten by the region’s warm water, stunning wildlife and pristine anchorages. I never grew tired of sailing, exploring, snorkeling, spearfishing and enjoying delicious meals aboard. (I was a family cook.)

Then, I met Tristan, a Welshman who shared my love of boats and the sea. He joined us aboard Circe for a few seasons, exploring Mexico before we married. We moved from the warm, familiar shores of Mexico to a rainy isle called Great Britain, my husband’s homeland.

 We settled in Pembrokeshire, Wales, a county on the country’s western tip known for the breathtaking national park that spans its coast. The area is a step back in time; people either love or hate the slow pace of life. Those who love it have one thing in common: a lifestyle that revolves around the sea. We fit right in.

 Not long after arrival, I set sail on a weeklong Royal Yachting Association Day Skipper course. What better way to get to know my new sailing ground? Two other student crew and I boarded our 40-footer, met our professional skipper, and got settled. We sailed from Milford Haven, a tidal estuary that divides Pembrokeshire County in half from north to south. The week’s plan was to allow the tides and weather to dictate our daily passages. By the end of the week, we’d be able to confidently day-skipper our own boats. 

 Britain’s cruising grounds differ from California’s and Mexico’s in a few ­noteworthy ways. The tidal range in Pembrokeshire is more than twice that of San Francisco Bay. The weather is famously fickle. Navigation takes some getting used to. (The red-green buoys are reversed from what boaters know in the United States. Here, it’s green, right, returning.) And, unlike the Sea of Cortez, the water is cold. Snorkeling off a boat requires 4 millimeters of neoprene, followed by hot cups of tea to thaw frozen fingers.

 When I boarded the boat that gray Friday evening for the start of my course, I knew to expect these differences. In fact, what surprised me most wasn’t the dismal weather or nautical nuances, but the discovery of something Britain is most certainly not known for: delicious food.

 My fellow crewmembers and I took turns cooking the evening meals. Most of the dishes on rotation were familiar comfort foods such as curry, chili and spaghetti Bolognese, which the Brits affectionately call “spag bol.” When it was my turn to cook, I was handed a bag of pasta, some canned tomatoes and a few cans of tuna. My instructions: “Make a tuna pasta bake.” 

Truth: I’d never even heard of a tuna casserole, never mind a tuna pasta bake. I suspected that the crew had invented it just to use up our remaining provisions, but they were adamant that it was a British classic.

 As I stood in the galley, eyeing up my ingredients and forming a plan, the crew could sense my ­apprehension. One by one, they began popping their heads into the ­companionway to offer advice.

 “My mum always added sweet corn,” one said.

“I bake mine until the top is a little crispy,” another chimed in.

“I’d add that third tin of tuna,” yet another offered.

 I listened to some of their suggestions (the crispy top) and respectfully ignored some (the sweet corn). The result was a tuna pasta bake that I’m proud to say won the British crew’s stamp of approval. It was everything a cold-water boat meal should be: simple, hearty, and the perfect excuse to turn on the oven and warm up the cabin. 

British-Style Tuna Bake (serves 6)

• 1 lb. rigatoni or penne pasta
• 3-4 Tbsp. olive oil
• 2 small or medium onions, chopped
• Salt and pepper to taste 
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 8 Tbsp. tomato paste
• 3/4  cup red wine
• 1 12-ounce can diced tomatoes
• 2 tsp. sugar
• Pinch of oregano and basil 
• 3 cans tuna in oil (3.5- to 5-ounce cans, drained)
• 1 generous cup fresh baby spinach leaves or kale, chopped
• 1 cup mozzarella, grated
• 1 generous cup cheddar, grated
• Dusting of Parmesan, grated

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

Boil pasta in a large pot of generously salted water, until one stage before al dente. (Use package directions as a guide.) Drain, but reserve about 1½ cups of the pasta water. Set pasta aside. 

Heat olive oil in the pasta pot. Sauté onions with a pinch of salt and pepper until they soften. Add garlic and cook for another 2 minutes. Add tomato paste and blend, stirring, for another minute. Stir in the wine, and allow sauce to simmer for 2 to 3 minutes. 

Stir in tomatoes, sugar, herbs and tuna. Simmer for 10 minutes. Add baby spinach or kale and cook briefly, until wilted.

Remove from heat. Thin the sauce with a bit of pasta water, then gradually add cooked pasta and mozzarella, stirring gently and adding more pasta water as needed to keep the mixture moist. Transfer to a greased 9-by-13-inch baking pan or casserole dish. Top with cheddar and Parmesan. 

Bake until cheese is melted and ­bubbling, and the edges of the bake are slightly crispy. Serve warm.

Prep time: 30 minutes (including cook time)
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: Classic British Comfort Food Warms the Boat in Wales appeared first on Cruising World.

My husband, Jeff, and I were relaxing in the cockpit of Outrider, our Westsail 42, in San Carlos, Mexico, when we suddenly found ourselves talking about Greece. We were traveling happily down memory lane, reminiscing about a summer we’d spent years ago, backpacking through the Greek islands. The taste of the meal we’d just eaten at a favorite beachside restaurant in Mexico, La Palapa Griega, had brought memories flooding back. Soon, the talk turned to food. 

Years ago, we’d arrived in Santorini, Greece, sleep-­deprived, frazzled and hungry. Wandering off the beaten path, we’d found a quiet taverna, where we sampled pastitsio for the first time. Often called Greek lasagna, this baked, meaty casserole—layers of spiced ground beef, long tubular pasta, and a rich and creamy white-sauce topping—completely revived us. The taste of that delicious first bite has stayed with us for years.

Back home again in California, as we resumed full-time work and life aboard, I tried to re-create the dish, without success. My efforts were a little bland and dry.  

Fast forward to Mexico, where (now retired) we spend every winter aboard. As full-time liveaboards for 30-odd years, the decision to sail our home south, to live our dream of cruising Mexico and the Sea of Cortez, also meant we were in a hurricane zone with scorching summers—a situation not exactly conducive to year-round living aboard. Neither of us relished the idea of living like moles belowdecks, air conditioning running, unable to venture outside during hot daylight hours. Ultimately, we decided to cruise during the cooler months and leave Outrider in capable hands, either on the hard or in a secure slip in Mexico, each summer while we headed back north.

To avoid paying double rent (a marina slip in Mexico and an apartment in the United States) we offered our services as summertime pet and house sitters to our travel-loving US friends up north. It worked. Now, though we do house-sit occasionally, we have a “liveaboard” camper van; each summer, we head north to land-cruise, camping and exploring new places every year. 

Back aboard Outrider that evening, by the time the reminiscing wound down, we’d worked up a serious pastitsio jones. We made a plan: We’d return to the restaurant in a day or two, to sample their Greek lasagna. 

Unfortunately, Lady Luck had other ideas. Later that evening, we heard what sounded like fire alarms in the distance, followed by an ominous dark plume of smoke wafting out over the ocean. It appeared that something rather big was ablaze, but majestic Tetakawi Mountain blocked our view. 

The next day, we found out the casualty was our beloved La Palapa Griega. We wouldn’t be eating their pastitsio anytime soon. 

So, I retrieved my recipe stash from a drawer, found the well-worn notes from my earlier attempts, and got busy on my Greek pasta bake. Jeff took one bite and tactfully reminded me that nothing magical had occurred over the years; the recipe was still a bit bland and dry. But, unlike before, I now had all the time in the world to tweak the recipe. 

The proper pasta for this dish—thick, hollow ­spaghetti—is hard to find outside Greece, so I went for penne. It’s hollow and about the same diameter, just shorter. I experimented with sauce-to-meat ratios and different spices. After one more trial that didn’t quite work, the third time, like that first bite years ago in Santorini, hit the sweet spot. Flavorful, aromatic and moist, it truly was a taste of times past.

Editor’s Note: Mott reports that as of September 2022, La Palapa Griega is up and running.

Meaty Greek Lasagna, serves 6 to 8

• 10-12 oz. raw penne pasta (about 3-3 1/2 cups)
• 4 Tbsp. olive oil
• 1 cup Parmesan, grated 
• 13/4 lb. ground beef
• 1 small to medium onion, chopped
• 1 24-oz. jar tomato sauce
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/4 tsp. pepper
• 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp. ground cloves

White Sauce

• 1/4 cup butter
• 1/4 cup flour
• 2 cups milk, room temperature
• 1/2 cup additional Parmesan, grated finely
• 2 egg yolks, room temperature 
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Cook penne al dente according to package instructions. Drain and toss with 2 tablespoons olive oil and a little Parmesan; set aside. 

In a large pan, briefly sauté beef in remaining 2 tablespoons oil. Add onions, and cook till soft and meat is browned. Do not drain fat. Stir in tomato sauce, salt, pepper, cinnamon and ground cloves. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes. 

Grease a 9-by-13 ovenproof baking pan. Spread half of the pasta evenly on the bottom of the pan. Spread the meat sauce over the pasta in an even layer. Sprinkle with Parmesan. Spread remaining pasta on top.

Make the white sauce: In a saucepan over low heat, melt butter and slowly shake in flour a bit at a time, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or wire whisk. Very gradually add room-temperature milk a little at a time, stirring constantly to prevent lumps. When all milk is added, continue to heat and stir until sauce begins to thicken. (This can take 10 to 20 minutes.) Add 1/4 cup Parmesan, and continue stirring. When sauce is thickened and creamy, it’s ready. Remove from heat, and let cool slightly. 

Lightly beat room-temperature egg yolks in a small bowl. Take a small amount of sauce and add it to the eggs, whisking rapidly. Pour egg mix into sauce in pan, and stir vigorously to blend. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Pour sauce evenly over pasta layers. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 minutes. Briefly remove from oven, top with remaining 1/4 cup Parmesan, tent loosely with foil, and bake an additional 10 to 15 minutes, or until top is golden brown and meat sauce is bubbling at the edges. Let sit 10 to 20 minutes before cutting into square pieces to serve. 

Prep time: 2 hours
Difficulty: Medium
Can be made: at anchor

Cook’s Notes

To cut down on the prep time, you can use a good packaged mix for the white sauce. Leftover lasagna keeps well in the fridge for two days. Or freeze in individual portions, and reheat to eat. If anything, it gets even better.

What’s Cooking?

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible use in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with a high-quality digital photo of yourself aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com

The post Sailor & Galley: A Taste of Times Past appeared first on Cruising World.

It was Lucas, age 8, who spoke first.

“Whoa!” he hollered. “This ­chicken is, like, totally good!” 

The words drifted down the companionway and directly into my ears, which, along with the rest of me, were standing at the sink engaged in scrubbing a seriously crusty pan. We were in Greece’s Saronic Islands after a morning of sailing, anchored in a quiet spot for swimming and lunch aboard Stressbuster, our Greek-designed Atlantic 70 cutter. Our charter guests that week were a delightfully down-to-earth family of four from Connecticut. 

It’s not that I make a habit of ­eavesdropping, exactly. But I must confess, I dolisten to gauge guests’ reactions to the lunches I serve on board. Sounds of satisfaction—or complete silence except for the clinking of utensils against plates, followed by low murmurs of “yum” or “this is delicious”—are always music to my ears.

Suddenly (still not eavesdropping), I realized that Luc’s 6-year-old sister, Lyra, was ominously silent. I sneaked a peek up the companionway, dreading the “I’m so not happy” look that often precedes a kid meltdown. Instead, I saw her fully engaged in hands-on chowing down a chicken leg, face over plate, chicken bits on face, fork asunder. All good.

As crew and cook aboard Stressbuster, I try to make one daily meal that will please everyone. This can be tricky, even with grown-ups (everybody’s a kid at heart), but it is especially so when we have young sailors aboard. 

It’s a rare kid who will eat anything and everything. We’ve had finicky eaters, ­including one who’d eat only spaghetti with butter; another, only chicken nuggets; yet another, only Nutella on fresh bread or fruit, for the entire week. We’ve had trend eaters who left me wondering, How do kids decide to become macrobiotic ­vegans at age 12? Far more frequently, we have kids who are just missing familiar comfort foods from home who ask, “Do you know how to make peanut butter and jelly?” Yes, you bet I do!

Ever since my Greek husband, Kostas, and I began charters on our boat 20-plus years ago, I’ve adapted Greek recipes to make them more boat-friendly and added my own touches. That day’s lunch, Greek chicken lemonata, was one of my first attempts. Though I’d served it to a few adults, always receiving rave reviews and requests for the recipe, I had yet to serve it to my most discerning diners: the kids.

In Greece, chicken lemonata is often braised, either in a large stewpot on the stovetop, or covered with foil in the oven with lotsofwater added. Since I usually cook lunch underway, weather permitting, neither was a terrific option. Oven-braising requires frequent checks and replenishing of pan liquid, not to mention yielding mushy chicken and potatoes. And a large stewpot on even a gimbaled stovetop underway is a no-go. (We have a stove safety rail, as well as stainless-steel pot clamps, but when it comes to large pots, both fail spectacularly.) I needed to adapt this dish for safe, hassle-free one-pan cooking underway, in the oven, with its door locked.

It’s a rare kid who will eat anything and everything. We’ve had finicky eaters, including one who’d eat only spaghetti with butter.

Oregano is a worshiped herb in Greek cuisine, a fact that is not surprising because the stuff grows in Greece with almost supernatural abundance, even in the wild. The Greeks use it in, well, almost everything. Fresh herbs always trump dried, if you can get them—and I had them, from our home herb garden. In addition to the requisite oregano, I added sage, rosemary, thyme and more garlic. For the lemon sauce, I whisked olive oil together with lemon juice and a pinch of salt. No water. It worked.

After lunch that day, with the dishes stowed and galley cleaned, I rejoined the crew on deck. As we sailed downwind toward the next island, the kids’ mom, Liz, leaned over and whispered, “Lynda, the kids have made a wish: for that lemon chicken one more time before we leave. Do you think that’s even possible?” 

You can guess what my answer was. Not only did my chicken pass the kid test, but I also got to grant two kids’ wishes in the bargain. 

I’m totally good with that.

Roasted Greek Chicken Lemonata

• 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
• 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken legs 
• 11/4  to 11/2  cups olive oil
• Juice of  1/2 medium lemon (about 1 Tbsp., or to taste)
• Pinch of salt
• 2 tsp. each, chopped: fresh sage, rosemary, thyme, oregano; or, 1 heaping tsp. each, dried
• 3-4 large cloves garlic, minced 
• 4 medium potatoes
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Serves 4

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Rub the chicken pieces with some of the olive oil, salt and pepper, and arrange in a lightly oiled large baking pan, leaving space for potatoes in between. (If your boat oven lacks a top heating element, then lightly brown the chicken in a little olive oil first.) 

In a large measuring cup, whisk together most of the remaining olive oil, all of the lemon juice, and some salt until emulsified and blended. Add the chopped herbs and minced garlic. Stir together with a fork (garlic and herbs will gum up a whisk). Set aside to let the flavors blend.

Cut potatoes into eighths ­lengthwise. Place them in a large bowl. Add a bit of salt and pepper and a swirl of olive oil, and toss with your hands to coat. 

Wedge the potatoes around and under the chicken in the pan, making sure the ­potatoes are touching the bottom or sides. Pour the olive-oil/lemon ­mixture over everything, ­distributing the sauce, herbs and garlic evenly. 

Bake for about 1 hour, uncovered, basting once halfway through, until the chicken and potatoes are done. The internal temperature of the chicken should be at least 165 to 175 degrees ­Fahrenheit, and the potatoes should be soft inside. 

To serve, arrange the chicken on a large serving platter, with the potatoes in the middle. Drizzle pan juices over it all. Garnish with sprigs of fresh herbs and lemon slices.

• Prep time: 1 hour, 15 minutes
• Difficulty: Easy
• Can be made: Underway or At Anchor

The post Sailor & Galley: Totally Good Chicken appeared first on Cruising World.

During the many winters of living aboard our Tayana 58, Scaramouche, along the US East Coast, the ­weather often kept my husband and me hunkered down belowdecks. On cold days, a hearty stew was just the ticket for a warming, stick-to-your ribs dinner. This one-pot meal is also a great make-ahead dish for ­offshore passages when chilly nights are forecast. The recipe, which will please the meat-eaters in your crew, is real chili con carne—chili with meat, beans optional. This version is the captain’s ­preference: no beans! This is best made in a pressure cooker, but if you have time and a good propane supply, it can be slow-cooked in the oven at very low heat. Ultimately, the fuel use is worth it. This makes two or three hearty meals for two. It keeps for several days refrigerated, and it also can be frozen for future enjoyment.

MEAT-EATERS’ NO-BEAN CHILI

• 1 1/2 lb. stew beef
• 1 1/2 lb. stew pork
• 2 tsp. sesame (or olive) oil
• 1 1/2 tsp. salt
• 2 large peppers, red and yellow, cut in 1/2-inch dice
• 1 large onion, cut in 1/2- inch dice 
• 1 12-ounce bottle beer
• 1 16-ounce jar salsa
• About 30 corn tortilla chips, broken into small pieces
• 2 chipotle peppers (canned in adobo sauce), chopped, or to taste*
• 1 Tbsp. adobo sauce, or to taste*
• 1 Tbsp. tomato paste
• 1 Tbsp. chili powder
• 1 tsp. ground cumin *can be omitted if you don’t like spicy chili
• Toppings: Grated cheddar cheese, chopped fresh cilantro, sliced green onion, sour cream, and diced avocado or guacamole.

Serves 4 to 6

Cook’s Note: If you have a slow cooker, ­follow directions for a stew recipe.

Cut meat into ¹/2 -inch pieces. In a large bowl, toss meat with oil, and sprinkle with salt. Brown meat in batches in pressure cooker or a large Dutch-oven pot, and set aside. Add the peppers and onions to the pot, and saute lightly; don’t brown. Add the beer, and deglaze the pot. Return meat to pot, and add salsa, tortilla chips, chipotle peppers, adobo sauce, tomato paste, chili powder and ground cumin. Stir to combine. Bring stew to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. If using a pressure cooker, lock pressure-cooker lid in place, and bring pot to high pressure. Reduce heat to low, and cook for 25 to 30 minutes. If you’re slow-cooking the chili in the oven, preheat to 300 to 325 degrees F and transfer pot to oven. Slow-cook, covered, for 3 to 4 hours, or until meat is fork tender. Check during cook time, and add water to moisten if needed. The tortilla chips melt to form a very thick sauce. Serve hot, in bowls, either plain or over rice, with your favorite toppings or sides. 

Preparation: At anchor 
Time: 1 to 4 hours, depending on cooking method 
Difficulty: easy

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